


Angel Wings and Impala Grease

by highflyerwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highflyerwings/pseuds/highflyerwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeppelin, two brothers, and an angel in the backseat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Wings and Impala Grease

**Author's Note:**

> A series of 10 roadtripping drabbles, set to Led Zeppelin's album, "Zeppelin III." Each drabble is paired with a song, though none of the drabbles actually have anything to do with the song they're paired with (any connection you find between the song and its drabble is unintentional, though awesome if you find it). Think of it as a soundtrack to a series of simple little snippets from different points throughout one of the millions of drives these guys go on on a daily basis. And because if the Winchesters were an album, this would be it.

**Immigrant Song**

“Nuh-uh. You’re not flappin’ away this time, Cas. Get your ass in the car,” Dean gave Castiel a sly smile and a friendly shove into the backseat, and he slammed the door behind him. “You’re part of the team now,” he said as he slid himself into the driver’s seat, "that means you buck up and deal with all the joys of the road,” he gestured wistfully out the windshield to the barren and dusty highway before them.   
  
Sam slid into the passenger seat next to Dean, and turned to look at Castiel over his shoulder. "He’s right, Cas,” he gave the angel an apologetic smile and a shrug.   
  
Dean laughed and reached under his seat, pulling out a ragged shoebox and tossing it into Sam’s lap.   
  
“For that, Sammy, you get to pick the music.”   
  
Sam bit back a smile and started rummaging through the box. After a moment he found what he was searching for, and with a small smile pushed the cassette into the tape-deck and turned up the volume.   
  
Dean groaned in delight when the music started playing, and he shifted the car into gear. "Sammy, you're too good to me," he said.   
  
And when he tore out onto the road, heading west in the direction of the setting sun, the rear-end fishtailed slightly, kicking up dust and dirt behind them. Sam’s hand flew up and gripped the top of the car through the open window, and the brothers laughed loudly, a bright and giddy sound that made Castiel smile as he watched the two from his new home in the backseat of the Impala.

**Friends  
**

****  
Dean hates the mundanity of the day. The sun rises and takes with it all that might have been. Erasing the weird veil of hope and uncertainty that comes only in the dark.

At night, anything is possible. Love seems almost as real as the monsters in the closet, and truths and lies are whispered with equal reverence.   
  
In the dark, the world is right again, and Dean smiles at the setting sun with a familiar fondness that settles deep inside him next to the warmth of his brother at his side. 

**Celebration Day**

“Hey, Cas. You ever think about changing those clothes of yours?”   
  
Castiel looked down at himself and fingered the hem of his sleeve lightly. “I see no reason to change this vessel’s attire,” he frowned at Dean’s reflection in the rear-view mirror.   
  
“Well, Jimmy was swell guy and all, but he didn’t give you the most comfortable clothes to fly around in.”   
  
Castiel looked back down at himself and regarded his clothes a little more carefully. “I suppose he didn’t,” he looked back up at Dean’s reflection. “Perhaps I’ll borrow some of yours.”

**Since I’ve Been Loving You**

Dean never had many friends. He never had the luxury. Sam was the closest, but even then, they were  _brothers_ , and everyone knows that’s different than having a  _friend_. You’re forced into a family, and the bond you form comes from sheer necessity. But a  _friendship_...Random acts of kindness and hatred sending you each into an intricate orbital pattern, pushing and pulling against the other until one day you can’t imagine yourself without...without this  _other_. This other half of yourself that you didn’t even know you were missing until you found it. Or it found you. Dean isn’t sure which came first, but he looked over his shoulder at the angel riding in the backseat, staring dutifully out the window, and he knew he had a friend. It’s not what was desired, but it sure as hell feels good. And he can’t complain about that.

**Out on the Tiles**

  
“Cas, you ever played any road games?”   
  
“All the time.”   
  
“What--Cas, did you just make a joke? Sammy, did he just make a joke? Wha--forget it. Whatever. Oh! Hey. Watch this, Cas.”   
  
“....”   
  
“SLUGBUG!”   
  
“OW! What the  _hell_ , Dean!”   
  
“Ha! Got’cha, Sammy!”   
  
“That fuckin’  _hurt_ , jerk.”   
  
“Suck it up, bitch-- _OW_! Fuck, son of a  _bitch_ , Cas! What the hell was that for!”   
  
“Don’t hit your brother.”   
  
(Any of the protests Dean may have made were lost under the roar of Sam’s laughter.) 

  
**Gallows Pole**   


  
More than anything else Castiel has encountered during his time on earth, Sam Winchester is by far the most confounding. Castiel regards him warily, as if the man were a balloon filled with too much air, fit to burst at any moment. And for as much as Castiel loves Sam, he dislikes him twice as much. But Sam challenges Castiel in ways no one else has. Not even Dean. Where Dean makes Castiel question his faith, and his orders, and _“God’s Will,”_ Sam makes him question his own opinions, and ideas...his own desires and  _self-worth_. Around Sam, Castiel feels like a  _man_. Around Sam, Castiel is dust and clay and everything beautiful on God's green earth.   
  
Castiel’s not supposed to like Sam. But then Castiel’s been wrong before.   
  
He looks over at Sam--at the sharp profile of his nose, and the way his hair curls a little around his ear, at the way his mouth moves slightly as he chews unconsciously at the inside of his cheek--and when Sam turns his head and looks at Castiel and _smiles_ , suddenly Castiel finds he can’t really tell you why he ever disliked him at all. He quite likes it when Sam smiles. 

**  
Tangerine**

  
Sam felt Castiel’s gaze on him long before he acknowledged it. He waited for as long as he could and when he finally turned his attention toward the angel, all he could do was smile. He liked Cas. Always had. His image of angels had been shattered fairly early on, but he held no less hope than he had before, and this was especially true when he looked at Castiel. Cas was strong and persistent, and Sam admired him. And he sometimes felt a pang of jealousy when Cas would turn to Dean, and talk to Dean, and stare at Dean like maybe something inside Dean’s eyes reminded him of Heaven. But then Sam couldn’t blame anyone for looking at Dean that way. He just wished he knew what the angel thought of  _him_. He wouldn’t mind it if Cas liked him a little bit. 

**That’s the Way**

“Hey, remember that girl you dated, or...‘sort of’ dated, right after high school? What was her name...”   
  
“There was a lot of ‘em, Sammy. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”   
  
“In Denver? You were nineteen and she--”   
  
“Who--Rhonda?”   
  
“Yeah! Rhonda. Rhonda Hurley, right?”   
  
“Yeah, and? What about her?”   
  
“Did you ever give her back that pair of pink panties you borrowed?” 

**  
Bron-Y-Aur Stomp**

  
Castiel watches Dean out of the corner of his eye. Dean’s in the passenger seat now. He and Sam traded places after making that pit-stop around midnight at a diner just outside of Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Dean was hungry and needed pie, and Sam was “cranky and needed caffeine,” Dean had explained. Now, back in the car, brothers in different seats, Dean was resting his head against the window with his eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep, just dozing lazily and enjoying the ride--It was the only time Dean ever truly relaxed: inside the Impala as she sped down the highway--He absentmindedly scratches at his left shoulder underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. The material hitches up slightly, baring the skin underneath, and Castiel can see the scar there poking out a little beneath Dean’s hand. It’s barely visible in the moonlight shining through the window, but Castiel can see it as plain as day. He wonders if Dean ever thinks about it...the scar. Dean asks a lot of questions--about  _everything_ \--but he’s never asked about that. 

**Hats Off to (Roy) Harper**

Sam couldn't tell you how long they’d been driving, where they were, or even where they were headed...but he could tell you the exact width of the road they were on, the number of painted yellow lines that had whipped past since they’d pulled out onto the highway, and the precise speed they were traveling without even looking at the speedometer. Time, for Sam, had become insignificant; the need to keep track of it, as useless as the hollow and broken scraps of metal in Bobby’s junkyard. But Sam didn't lament the loss of time. Time was a friend who never asked for anything in return, and in a world where so much importance rest in every intricate turn he made, where each step meant Heaven or Hell, he could rest assured that time could go on without him. Keeping track of the minutes that passed was one of the few weights  _not_ resting on Sam’s shoulders. And when the rest of the world burns out and fades away, somewhere a clock will keep ticking, even without the help of a Winchester. 


End file.
